


Shadowed From the Dying Sun

by naity_sama



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Alternate Universe, Britchell, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Not Michell~!, Vampires, mitchers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:18:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naity_sama/pseuds/naity_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders Johnson, God of Gab, is a public relations miracle worker and nightmare rolled in one. He's a shameless womanizer with a penchant for strong booze and a knack for getting out of trouble.<br/>John Mitchell, Vampire, is a creature of the night fleeing the ruins of his former life. He has the blood of hundreds on his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadowed From the Dying Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I can not and will not guarantee frequent or consistent updates, but I will try and remember to work on this from time to time.

 

**Dicks Be Gettin’ Drips**

 

He shifts uncomfortably on the chair, its hard, sticky vinyl covering creaking and groaning with each movement. The filtered, antiseptic air of the clinic cloys in Anders’ flaring nostrils as he leans back against the chipping wall, hoping for the hundredth time that his name will be next so that he can go anywhere else. The waiting room is full of sick people, most of them gray and wizened with age. He pointedly keeps his pale gaze from roaming over the people’s wrinkled and sagging faces, shying away from the thought that in twenty or thirty years, he’ll be one of them; hooked on oxygen and wheeling his way through life. The incessant patter of a toddler’s Batman sneakers against the bars of his grandmother’s walker is slowly driving the blond mad as a crappy daytime show plays on the little TV bolted high in the corner. He shifts again to the other side, twitching his thigh up as if thinking about crossing his legs. In actuality, he’s hoping to alleviate the aching discomfort in his dick. He knew there had been something fishy about that busty blonde broad the other week, but he had let her suck his cock anyways. Afterward, he had fucked her in proper Anders fashion, but wearing protection had come a little too late. ‘Just a sore throat,’ she’d cooed. Nothing to worry about. Until a week later, when he’s got the drips and pissing is agony. Now, he’s sitting in a public health clinic where he hopes he won’t be recognized, squirming on a chair no more comfortable for all its padding, and questioning a certain few life choices. From now on, he’s wrapping his meat in plastic. Even for blowjobs.

 

“Anders Johnson?” The blond sits up in his chair, wincing as his back pops, and turns in the direction of the voice. A young, somewhat attractive nurse in hot pink scrubs is holding a clipboard and looking around the room. Anders rises smoothly to his feet and shoves his hands in his pockets; jeans today and not a tailored suit. He tries for his patent God of Fuck smirk, but it goes watery as soon as she meets his gaze with a flatly unimpressed look. So much for good impressions. He’s not particularly in the mood to flirt, but its instinctive, like breathing air. He tries for a weak grin that dies into a grimace at his next thought. By the time he leaves here, she’ll know exactly why he was there. He doesn’t speak as she has him stand on the wobbly scale to take his weight, except to answer the question of his height. Pursing his lips as he steps down, Anders follows her into the exam room. The tiny window up by the ceiling casts a pallid, yellowed glow that does nothing to warm the stale, clinical atmosphere of the tiny room. Diagrams of ears and throats and other things are pinned crookedly to the walls above little canisters of cotton swabs and tongue depressors. At the nurses insistence, Anders dutifully hops up to sit on the strip of crinkly waxed paper on the patient’s chair and lets her check his blood pressure and his temperature. She scribbles a few notes and leaves him alone with only the ticking of the clock and the steady drip of water from the leaky sink in the corner to keep him company. With no one in the room, he can finally rub soothingly at his dick with the palm of his hand. It doesn’t really make it hurt any less, but he does it anyways. He waits an interminable time, boredly picking at the wax paper and counting water stains on the ceiling. After five minutes or ten, there is a knock on the door before the doctor shuffles in.

 

When she looks up, their eyes meet and Anders stares openly. He can’t remember her name, but he’d screwed her sister into a mattress more than a year ago and had taken a solid right hook to the chin for his troubles. He’d had troubles eating for a week, after that. And now, the very woman who had put Anders down is his doctor. He smiles wanly, a tired version of his usual spunky grin. Her eyes narrow, hard and bright in her pretty face, and he can see how her fingers tighten knuckle-white on the edge of her clipboard. After a long moment, he looks away. It’s not exactly conceding defeat, but he wants to get this over with as quickly as possible.

 

“And why, exactly, are _you_ here today?” the woman in the long coat practically hisses out, her pearly whites clenched behind a professional shade of lipstick. If Anders had hoped that she might possibly have forgotten, that hope is dashed to the ground and thoroughly destroyed. The blond Johnson winces and hunches his shoulders under his jacket for an uncomfortable moment. He’ll have to handle this situation delicately. The last time, she had gotten the drop on him before he had known what was happening. This time, he’s making things go his way. Sitting up straight, he slaps on his most charming grin, looks her right in the eye, and sets to work.

 

“You know _exactly_ why I’m here,” Anders purrs out, dropping his voice far below his usual slightly nasal accent and layering Bragi on thick. His grin turns devious as she rocks forward, her full lips parting and dark eyes going unfocussed. “So, let’s move on past the pleasantries, sweet cheeks. I’ve got the fucking clap. You’re going to fill out whatever paperwork you need to _in a professional manner_ , and then you’re going to write me up whatever prescriptions I need to take care of it.” The blond pauses for a heavy moment, making sure that she’s fully drawn in by Bragi’s influence. “Then, I’m going to grab one of those candies by the door when I leave, and you’re going to have a nice day and forget that the stunningly handsome fellow you had for your 2 o’clock is the same guy that you decked for screwing your little sister. Capisce?”

 

Anders intently watches the doctor’s gaze as her head wavers uncertainly. Her eyes are hazy and wide as she stares at him blankly, but she hasn’t wised up to Bragi’s powers. He quirks a pale brow at her questioningly and tilts his head towards her, waiting for some kind of response. After a long, awkward moment, she blinks.

 

“Of course, Mr. Johnson.” The doctor smiles genially at him, and Anders returns it with a shit-eating grin.

 



 

Less than fifteen minutes later, Anders Johnson walks out of the health clinic with a cherry sucker in one hand and a few slips of paper in the other. He’s smirking as he tears off the wrapper and pops the candy into his mouth. The afternoon sky is as blue and beautiful as his eyes, and Anders Johnson has won once again.

 

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“No. No, no, no, no and most definitely NOT.” Anders loosely cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder, absently scratching at a sideburn as he flipped through a manila folder full of paperwork. “That would _not_ be in your best interest, Mrs. Mosely. That would only cause more damage to your reputation. Just let me handle this. It’s what I’m here for.” The corner of his eye twitched as the old woman’s shrill voice continued to drill through his ear and into his brain. Sighing as he held the phone out at the end of his arm while he gave his shoulders a quick stretch, the PR agent noticed his assistant walk by outside the doors. Perfect.

 

“Mrs. Mosely, how about I have my assistant set you up with an appointment at the soonest possible opening, and we can discuss your concerns in person? I may have something for you as soon as tomorrow, so we can go over that, too.” As he talked, Anders quickly walked over to the door, stretching the phone’s cord to its farthest point as he peered around outside. He tapped at the door until he had Dawn’s attention, and then frantically gestured at the phone in his hand before pointing at the phone on her desk. The woman across the room narrowed her eyes and shook her head, pointing right back at her boss. Anders stomped his foot and ground his teeth as he gave assurances to the client on his line. He gestured more violently, and Dawn turned her back on him and walked out with an armload of folders. The blond came close to tossing the phone, settling for giving it a hearty shake as he stomped back towards his desk.

 

“It appears as though my assistant is currently busy, so I’ll have to schedule your appointment myself. Please hold for a moment.” He gave the receiver a frosty glare that would have done his brother Ty proud. Setting the cursed plastic down on the table, he pulled up his date book on the computer and found something for a few days later that he could deal with. There were openings for tomorrow, but he just didn’t feel like dealing with the old broad tomorrow. Besides, it was her own fault that the tabloids were posting pictures of her grabbing the morning news in her knickers. She should have tied her damned frilly fucking robe shut if she didn’t want the paparazzi to get an eyeful.

 

“The earliest I can do is Monday. Is that alright with you? No, I’m sorry. There are no openings for tomorrow. Yes, at 3PM is completely workable. I’ll see you then, Mrs. Mosely. You’re welcome.” Anders had barely set the receiver in its cradle before he was up and out of his chair.

 

“DAWN. You _traitor!_ Dawn!” He stopped at the door for a moment, looking to see if his assistant was around. When he couldn’t spot her blonde bob, he grabbed his suit coat and headed for outside. Right before he opened the main door, he shouted out behind him “Taking lunch early, Dawn~! Be a dear and handle the phones for me while I’m out!” He caught sight of her standing in the hall just as he stepped out, and he made sure to blow her a kiss as he hurried into the noonday sun. He whistled all the way to the little sandwich shop three streets over, electing to walk on such a fine day. It was good for his health and the environment, after all. At least, that’s what Dawn has been telling him for the last year.

 



 

He’s got a lovely redhead with huge jugs hanging off of one arm, a bottle blonde on the other. He could see her dark roots halfway across the room, but her teeth were straight and white, and her hands were sliding slowly up and down his thigh. With a little luck, and perhaps a little godly influence, he'll have a lovely night. He places a hand on the small of the redhead's back, wishing for a moment that his hands were perhaps a little broader. Anders' fingers flex and his manicured nails scratch over the stretchy fabric of her tight dress, feeling the heat of her skin against his palm.

 

“Well, ladies. How about we move this discussion to somewhere a little more private?”


End file.
